


Little Talks

by CannibalKats



Series: Catalyst [5]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Repressed Memories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 21:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11044380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CannibalKats/pseuds/CannibalKats
Summary: Ayame probably should have gone home after class, not let her TA and his boyfriend talk her into going to a party with them and playing the sober friend.  Not that she regrets it when their friend, the new photography professor offers to drive her home.





	Little Talks

**Author's Note:**

> This will follow V and Ayame (along with Saeran and Yoosung) as they navigate V's first relationship after Yoosung's route/secret ending (what's canon I can't hear you). It will also play with an idea I've seen in the fandom where MC was working with Mint Eye (note that Ayame is not the MC in this story, she will be introduced next chapter).

He’d spend the day at SKYU touring the arts building that held his classroom, he’d frowned at first, the initial room they’d presented to him had seemed more like a lecture hall than a photography class, but then they’d showed him another room, telling him _if he was so inclined_ he could use it as a studio space, it was empty anyway and connected to the dark room that was used by only a few students.

A few of the tenured professors who’d been fans of his had talked him into going to dinner with them, they’d all taken cabs, dragging him along and he’d had to go back to campus to collect his car.  He had to admit, when Jumin had brought up the prospect of teaching to him he’d been skeptical but after watching the students in the classrooms and studios of the building he was starting to feel something like excitement. 

He’d peeked in more than a few of the active classes, stepping into an open doorway whenever his guide had stopped for more than a moment.  Ignoring the man talking to him about whatever technical aspects had interested his predecessor, he’d watched the faces of the students, remembering when he’d started out. The excitement, and exhaustion, the bliss of creating something out of an idea, something you could put your name on.

He hoped he could inspire these kids.

There had been teachers too, some who droned on about colour theory or art history and others who stalked quietly through the canvases in their classroom studios.  He’d been interested to look into the class he knew Saeran took; his teacher was one of the few things he seemed happy to talk about, a young woman V had heard of in passing, who’d shown well early on but seemed to drop off quickly.

She was at the head of the room when he stuck his head around the corner, Saeran catching his eye immediately and shaking his head at him, she stuck out then, her bright coral hair, her dark pensive eyes, she was leaning against a wall in earnest conversation with a student.  She gestured with a brush splattering herself and the nearby wall in paint and laughing.  There was paint on her hands, paint in her hair, paint smeared along the corner of her mouth where she’d obviously been chewing on a brush.

She stuck out now.

She was in the big common room of the dorm building that Yoosung’s misspelled text had told him to come to.  Yoosung was curled around Saeran’s arm while he strummed at the beat up acoustic guitar he kept with him.  Saeran was leaning against a wall singing, his cheeks were pink and his head tilted towards Yoosung, bright green eyes trained on the top of his inclined blonde head.

She bounced on the balls of her feet in time with Saeran’s strums, tapping her hip and snapping her fingers, her eyes were downcast and her hair fell in her face, he couldn’t tell if her pink cheeks were a reflection or a blush. 

Neither of them are exceptional musicians but they sound nice, nicer than the party around them deserves.  About 8 of the 20 or so people in the room are listening to them one couple leans heavily against one another and sways with the song.  V smiles to see it, nostalgic for the days of house parties and someone to lean on.

There’s a screech of the strings as Yoosung stumbles against Saeran, and V almost jumps but _she_ takes the guitar from Saeran, neither of them missing a beat as they continue to sing, Saeran’s shoulder bumping against her as he pulls Yoosung up hugging the taller boy to him and leaning against the wall behind him.

 _Some days I can't even trust myself_  
It's killing me to see you this way  
'Cause though the truth may vary, this  
Ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

She smiles, shaking her head in an unsuccessful attempt to get her hair out of her face.  V watches her suppress a laugh as Yoosung reaches out a hand over Saeran’s shoulder to clumsily push her hair behind her ear. _My friend_ , Saeran said talking about his teacher.  She had taken on a lot when she agreed to mentor him, he knew that.  The school wouldn’t have let him in with his record if she hadn’t stood up for him.

 _She listens to me_ , he’d heard him tell Saeyoung once.  V didn’t know which had been better for him, Yoosung, school, or this teacher but Saeran now only saw his therapist on a monthly basis, he attended a bi-weekly game night with Yoosung, and he could stand in a room full of people and play his guitar, _and smile_.  No small task for the boy who’d try to kill his own brother and maimed a psychologist in his hospital room.

 _Some days I don't know if I am wrong or right_  
Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear  
'Cause though the truth may vary, this  
Ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

His attention switches to _her_ , she’s smiling now, but her eyes are still downcast.  Her playing is not as good as Saeran’s and she sways, bumping into the boys rhythmically while she plays,  like she wants to make sure they don’t forget her.  Like she’s reminding herself she’s not alone.  Yoosung joins in, slightly off key but her smile widens and she leans around Saeran’s back to boop Yoosung on the nose as the song ends.

Saeran is laughing softly and scolding Yoosung  as he takes his guitar back from _her_ and shoves his boyfriend at his friend.  _She_ is laughing, holding Yoosung out in front of her like she’s just been handed a baby without warning.

“No, this isn’t a fair trade, give me back the guitar,” she whines

“I agree,” Saeran snorts.  “It’s not fair, he’s way better looking than my guitar, and he cuddles.”

She makes a gagging noise. “But the guitar is less likely to vomit on me without any warning.”

“Hey,” Yoosung squeaks pulling himself out of her grip and stumbling a little, “that happened once and it was my birthday and—It’s V! Hey V!” Yoosing waves.

He can feel his cheeks heat up when she follows Yoosung’s beaming smile so it’s the soft smile on Saeran’s face he tries to focus on.  The way his features soften when he looks at Yoosung.  That nostalgic feeling pulls at his heart again.

“Hi,” she’s already reaching out to shake his hand when she speaks and he takes it tentatively, “you’re the new photo-guy right?”

He nods, he knows her name, he’s heard it a hundred times but when he tries to remember it all he can see is the painting of hers he’d seen at a student show in Amsterdam. It had been a city skyline, he’d appreciated the way it was no city in particular and every city he’d ever been to, he’d admired her use of negative space and the way the lights of the city had mirrored the stars in her sky.  He’d been visiting the gallery with Jumin and Rika, considering an offer to show there in a month. 

He’d meant to buy it before they’d left but then he’d said something, and Rika had gotten angry and he’d forgotten.

“Jesus,” Saeran groans under his breath. “Ayame, this is V.”

“He’s famous,” Yoosung whispers loudly.

Ayame laughs.  “Yeah, _I know_ , thanks.”

“I enjoy you work,” he says to fill the space.  It’s been so long since he’d met someone socially, someone he didn’t need to impress for the RFA, someone who made him _want_ to talk to them. 

Her face freezes and she pulls her hand back out of his grip. “You uh, that’s very nice, did Saeran show you?”

A look passes between them and Saeran shrugs and shakes his head.

 “Did Yoosung ask you for a drive?” Saeran asks, and V is thankful for the abrupt subject change.

“I think that’s what he was trying to ask,” V chuckles.

“Aw man,” Yoosung gasps, a sniffle and a muffled sob follow.

Everyone looks at him as he stares down, the most forlorn expression on his face, he’s almost in tears when he glances up at Saeran.

Saeran takes Yoosung’s face in his hands. “Hey cutie what’s wrong?” He asks softly and V notices Ayame glance nervously up at him from behind them.

“My shoe’s untied,” Yoosung sobs.

V chokes back a laugh and hears Ayame whisper a soft _Jesus Christ._

“Your what?” Saeran snorts, holding back his own laugh.

“My shoe,” Yoosung has stopped sobbing but he stares down pointing at his left sneaker, “these were my favorite ones too.”

“How much have you drank tonight?” V asks.

“Beer,” Yoosung nods.

Saeran drops down and Ayame grabs onto Yoosung’s hips when he sways foreword almost toppling over.

“Look,” Saeran says through his suppressed laughter, “it’s tied again, all fixed up, you can keep these shoes now right.”

Yoosung shrugs.  “I guess, but it feels like lying.”

Ayame snorts.

“Let’s go home,” Saeran laughs.

“Can we get pizza?” Yoosung asks looking at V with big puppy dog eyes.

“We have Pizza at home,” Saeran sighs. Yoosung shrugs and pitches himself towards the exit, Ayame and Saeran rush to keep up with him and V follows them, chuckling as he watches Yoosung bounce between them like a pinball.  He stands back watching them convince Yoosung to get in the car, Ayame trying to talk him into taking a plastic grocery bag with him.

“I threw up _one time_ ,” he whines relenting.

“Ok well if you’re not going to barf I want Saeran to send me pictures of you drinking 2 glasses of water before you go to bed ok?”

“Two?” He yells leaning out the door, “am I a horse?”

“No Yoosung, you’re drunk,” Saeran chuckles pushing Yoosung farther into the backseat of Vs BMW.

“Have you been drinking?” he asks her as Saeran slides in the back beside Yoosung. “Do you need a ride too?”

“I’m ok,” she smiles, her cheeks pink and _now_ he can’t tell if it’s from the chill or if she’s blushing.  “I promised the drunk baby that I’d be sober-buddy so he wouldn’t feel guilty.”

“Are you sure you don’t need a drive, I’d hate for you to pay for a cab when I don’t mind at all.”

“Oh no it’s fine, I can walk.”

“Ayame get in the fucking car,” Saeran grunts. “The faster you let him drive you home the faster I can put this asshole to bed.”

“You’re being _mean_ ,” Yoosung whines behind him.

“I _would_ feel better if I could make sure you got home safely,” he smiles at her and this time he _knows_ she’s blushing.

She shrugs and he opens the passenger side door for her. 

It’s not until they’re more than 5 minutes past her place she realizes she forgot to tell him her address.  Saeran teases her in that dry deadpan way he has and Yoosung tries to make a joke that comes out as bubbling laughter followed by her name and something to do with roses.  Ayame gets out of the car with the boys and helps Saeran fish Yoosung’s keys out of his pocket and get the door open. 

He watches her stand with her foot in the door while Saeran shoves Yoosung into the lobby elevator, she doesn’t step away until the doors close and the numbers above them start to change.

“That was very kind of you,” he says when she ducks back into his car. 

She shrugs.  “You think it’s weird that we’re friends right?”

“Hmm? No,” V says quickly.

“Are you sure?” She teases him. “You said that awfully quick.”

He’s quiet for a moment; pulling back out onto the highway towards the campus and the place she rented a room.  “Before tonight I thought it was strange but I hadn’t realized you were so young.”

She laughs. “Young?  I hate to out myself as a fangirl but we’re the same age, I’m actually a little older.”

He turns and raises an eyebrow. “Are you saying I’m not young?”

She turns sideways and pulls her feet up sitting awkwardly cross-legged in the leather seat of his car and bursts into laughter.  He watches her in his peripheral as he pulls off the highway towards her home, he listens to the way it starts as a snort, and then the grunt when she tries to suppress it and then the laughter, full on tears in her eyes gasping for breath laughter.  It takes her a minute before she stops, doubled over with the seatbelt tucked behind her and her arms clutching at her sides.  “I’m so sorry,” she says through her gasps for air, “I’m not sure why that was so funny.”

He shrugs, unable to hide the smile on his face.  “You know, I wasn’t trying to flatter you before, I really do enjoy your work, I saw a landscape study you did in Amsterdam a few years ago, it was breathtaking.”

“Five,” she says softly.

“Hmm.”

“Five years ago, you saw my Amsterdam gallery _five_ years ago, you remembered a show I did when I was a student but you couldn’t remember my _name_?”

“I’m uh,” he laughs nervously and runs a hand through his pastel hair.

She blushes twisting in her seat to look away from him. “I’ve never met anyone who recognized me for my work before,” she admits.

“ _Really_?” He doesn’t mean to sound so incredulous when he speaks.

She snorts. “Well there was the student last year who recognized a piece I had on the wall but it was only because this Finnish indie band had used it as their cover art,” she groans, “Christ, I’m pretty sure the first run of that album with my stolen painting is worth more than the actual piece now.”

There’s a rock in the pit of his stomach when she points out her driveway and he considers missing it as an excuse to drive around the block one more time, to keep her talking, but he doesn’t, he turns towards the big brick building and frowns. 

“You live here?”

She shurgs, unashamed and smiles.  “It’s cheap,” she chirps and giggles a little.  She sits there for a minute with her hand on the door handle, not quite looking at him through her hair.

“Do you—” They both start to speak and he snaps his mouth shut as she giggles again.

“Do you want to come in for a minute?” She asks, her voice dropping a little.

“I’m not,” he starts to decline, it’s late and they both teach classes tomorrow, and anyone still awake will certainly talk.  But then a little voice in the back of his head says _you’re an adult, who cares_ , “yes,” he nods and he can see her smile when she turns to open her door.

“Do you want a drink?” She asks throwing her keys down on the table.

“If it’s no trouble that would be nice,” he chuckles softly to himself while she throws cupboards open and mumbles to herself.

“Well, it looks like our options are expired tomato juice, energy drinks, or uh Vodka?”  She holds the bottle up and laughs.  “I thought I had a much less embarrassing bottle of wine but someone must have drank it, or I maybe did? Hmm.”

“Tap water is fine,” he smiles reaching past her to the cupboard he’d seen drinking glasses in, “I can even serve myself, I’m a very easy guest.”

She blushes when his arm brushes her shoulder.  “Very responsible of you Mr. Kim,” she nods and presses her lips together. 

“ _Boring_ ,” he laughs, “or so I’ve been told by some.”

“Saeran?” she asks, eyebrows raised.

“His brother actually.”

“Oh, so _you_ know he-who-shall-not-be-named?  They’re twins right?  Identical?  Are they alike?”

He chuckles at her barrage of questions, the way she leans closer to him with each one, the bottle of vodka forgotten in her hand. 

“They _are_ identical,” he nods, “but only on paper, you’d never confuse one for the other in person.”

“He doesn’t talk about him a lot, Yoosung does sometimes but never by name, like it’s a secret or something.”

“It was once,” V muses, “I think it’s just become a habit.”

She sets the bottle on the counter and leads him into a small area with a few chairs and a couch, “do you want to sit down?”

“We won’t wake your housemates?”

“I’m the only one who sleeps on this floor.”

“So you know my real name,” he says, sitting on the sofa his head cocked to the side while she blushes, wishing she had a drink to hide behind.

“Oh uh,” she fidgets with the hem of her shirt, “Uh, well I know you’re the new teacher, I saw the sign on the door said Kim, I uh, heh,” she runs a hand through her hair, “I don’t know your first name, just your psued.”

“Hmm,” he frowns, “I suppose it won’t be a secret very much longer if I’m going to teach will it?”

She sits down next to him, the worn sofa pushing them together a little.  “Didn’t think of that huh?”

He laughs a little.

“You don’t have to answer,” she says looking at her hands in her lap, “but I feel like I have to ask; you haven’t done a show in a few years, _is this_ , are you retiring?”

V is quiet and she does her best not to look at him while he tries to choose his words.

“You really don’t have to answer, I won’t be offended, I know it can be a hard choice.”

“Was it for you?”

She laughs, a brittle sound that shatters on the walls. “I don’t think we can really compare, I didn’t really have a choice.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” he admits before she can go on, and she looks at him, tucking her hair behind her ear and smiles a little gratefully.  “I, there was an accident and I lost my sight for a while.”

“Oh,” she says softly and he feels her fingers brush against his hand on the sofa between them.  “I hadn’t heard.”

“I haven’t told anyone,” he whispers and the next time her fingers brush his palms he takes her hand in his, “just a few very close friends.  There was a surgery but there was a chance it wouldn’t work and I,” he inhales and squeezes her hand, “I’m not sure why I’m telling _you_ , but I let myself wallow for probably too long.”

“But you decided to get the surgery?” She asks pressing her shoulder against his. 

He nods, “It didn’t return my vision entirely though, I wear contacts _and_ glasses now.  I thought teaching may help me ease back into it, into taking photos again.”

It’s quiet for a moment before she speaks. “I did some stupid stuff after school, then I paid for a show out of pocket and lost that money and my loans were piling up,” she sighs, “I didn’t really have any options _but to admit failure_ and start teaching.”

“I wouldn’t call it failure,” he says gathering both her hands together.

“No I suppose you’re right, I still paint but I don’t know, I got spoiled early on and I had high expectations and too much pride.  I still have too much pride I think.”

“I forget how easy it’s been for me,” he admits.

She laughs.  “It’s alright, you get one of us common folk around enough of you rich art family kids and we start to forget to think about money.  But that’s my cross to bear, what made you decide to do it?”

“Do it?” He asks forgetting momentarily what he’s confessed to a stranger.

“The surgery, what made you decide you wanted to see again?”

“Oh,” he drops her hands and she pulls her feet up under her on the couch, throwing one arm over the back and leaning closer to him.  “I suppose it may sound silly, but Saeran was a large part of it.  How much do you know about him?”

“I know what’s on his record, and he’s told me a little bit about the _other stuff_ , I know he’s not supposed to talk about it, I don’t ask but it helps him to talk, I think, so I let him when he does.”

He reaches a hand out to brush her cheek, as if she can’t be real.  He didn’t know what she knew exactly, if she knew his involvement, but she seemed to have taken it in stride.  “Is that what you’re doing now?” he asks without thinking.

“What I’m doing now?” She echoes, her eyebrows knit together and she leans her cheek into his palm.

“Letting me talk, because you think it helps?”

She smiles, a pink blush spreading across her cheeks as a nervous laughs bubbles past her lips. “No, nothing like that, I think I’m actually being pretty selfish right now really.”

“Really?” He asks leaning closer to her, their foreheads almost touching. “What _are_ you doing then?”

“In this moment, I’m _really_ hoping that you’ll kiss me.”

*

She was late, it seemed to be becoming a habit.  She should have said no last night, she should have stayed home instead of going out with her TA and his boyfriend.  She should have bought groceries and gone home and ate a proper meal for once, not gone to a house party with a bunch of students.

But she’d promised Saeran she’d be his sober buddy.  He was so proud of his boyfriend that he wanted him to be able to celebrate the return of his 4.0 without feeling guilty.  The saving grace had been she got to meet _him_.

And then she’d taken _him_ home, and they’d talked until much too late, about things much too deep for a first meeting that hadn’t even been a first date, and then they’d kissed and when they finally came up for air it had been much too late to send him home and they’d fallen asleep in their clothes while he played her his favorite song on his phone.

She vaguely remembered _him_ kissing her forehead some time before her alarm went off, the sun was already up and birds chirped outside her window but she’d fallen back asleep.  She woke up the third time she hit snooze on her alarm, tucked neatly in, alone, and thirty minutes late.

“Ugh,” she groans.  Her hair is still wet from her world record speed-shower and she’s digging through the pile of clean laundry on her desk chair.  She fumbles with her bra, new and uncomfortable as it was she liked the way it made her look, and she still held out some hope she’d see _him_ again.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she whines at the laundry pile when she can’t find the shirt she wants.

She could find a different one but it would bother her all day, where _was_ the one she wanted?  She stands in the middle of her modest room half dressed in well worn skinny jeans and still no shirt frowning at her dirty laundry pile over-flowing the hamper.

A hand snakes around her waist and she yelps a little as it pulls her backwards, _he_ groans dropping a kiss to the place where her neck meets her shoulder.

“Mmm,” he sighs, “I thought I had time to get us coffee before you woke up, I had no idea I’d be rewarded with _this_.”  _He_ pulls her flush against him, his thumb hooked in the belt loop of her jeans the delicate fingers of his other hand splayed across her belly.

She should feel nervous, she thinks, or perhaps she should be angry that he hadn’t knocked, but something about him has been _comfortable_ since the moment he’d opened the door of his car for her.  Like they’d been doing this forever instead a few hours.

“I have a class in 20 minutes.”

“Mmhmm,” he hums against her ear, “how can you _teach_ art, when you _are_ art?”

She snorts. “Wow, you were doing so well.”

He’s blushing from ear to ear when she turns to face him.  “That bad?  It’s been a while, can I use that excuse?”

She laughs and kisses the tip of his nose.  “I liked it, it’s cute.  I’m just late.”

He presses a kiss to her lips, he means for it to be quick but then her arms drape over his shoulders and he’s holding her hips against him as his tongue pushes past her lips and before they know it she’s clinging to him.  Her fingers tangled in his hair and his clumsy hands pawing at her hips.

“Mmm, no, I can’t fifteen minutes now,” but she doesn’t move to untangle herself from him.

“Don’t you have a TA with a key, can’t you be a little late?”

She presses her forehead to his, it would be so easy to text Saeran and ask him to unlock the classroom, to open the supply cabinet and just let everyone get right to work but then she remembers. “You mean the TA who knows you?” she smirks.  “The TA who definitely knows you drove me home last night?”

He groans.

“Don’t you have classes today?”

“In an hour,” he whispers against her neck.

He whimpers when she pulls her hands from his hair, but it’s quickly followed by a laugh when she throws open the closet door with a cheer. 

There are all of three things hanging in the closet, the rest of the space is filled by framed paintings in various sizes, not an inch of space is unused.  She snatches a bright teal blouse with white embroidery off of a hanger with a triumphant sound.

“Drunk Ayame must have put the last load of laundry away,” she smiles sheepishly and he whines when she pulls the shirt over her head.

He grabs her arms before she can pull it all the way down and she squeaks, caught with her arms and the shirt over her head. “Are you _really_ sure you want to do that?” He smirks kissing her quickly through the fabric.

She pulls away playfully and finishes pulling the shirt down. “As difficult as it is to say no to you right now?”  She chuckles when he pouts.  “I really do have to get to my class, _and_ ,” she sing songs wrapping her arms around him, “as you pointed out last night I don’t even know your real name.”

“Oh, I suppose you’ve earned that,” he smirks and tries to sound suave but it’s somewhat diminished by the deep blush spreading across his cheeks. “It’s Jihyun.”

“Well, _Jihyun_ , hand me that coffee you’ve brought me and walk me to class and I’ll let you take me out to dinner tonight.”

“That sounds like something I can do.”


End file.
